Through the Veil
by Cookie-Lollie
Summary: Harry knows better than anyone how broken he is. He knows that he will never fully heal from it, if at all. He may have recovered on his own, but the pieces he managed to reclaim never quite fit as well as they used to. But regardless of his state, the future isn't set in stone yet and Harry has only a single goal in mind: don't let the future run down its intended course.


Uncle Vernon loved to dote about his family to anyone who was willing to listen for as long as possible. The Dursley family were upstanding citizens who contributed to the community. They attended church every Sunday to hear more about the Lord's word so that they could live life as better people and came to mass to receive the Lord's blessing and gain salvation. Uncle Vernon made small but periodic donations to local charities because he still had his family to think about but couldn't bear to leave those who were in need to suffer for any longer. Aunt Petunia attended charity bake sales and always brought the entire package deal of cakes, pies, cupcakes, brownies, and cookies because she also wanted to help the needy and let the community indulge in sugar every once in a while. Dudley loved to make new friends and was always trying to get the withdrawn children to open up and play with him and his friends.

Uncle Vernon was the respectable husband who went to work six days a week as the director of a company that made drills. He was respectful to everyone in the community, greeting them every morning before he drove off to work. Occasionally, Uncle Vernon would buy breakfast for his department as the director because Uncle Vernon enjoyed seeing their face light up with joy. He knew that his superiors were widows and hadn't enjoyed home-cooked meals since the loss of their wives so whenever an opportunity arose, he always invited his superiors for dinner so that they could enjoy a home-cooked meal again.

Aunt Petunia was a doting mother and housewife who took it upon herself to make sure her loving husband came home from work each day to a clean house and warm meal made by hand. She grew her prized garden of tea plants herbs to share with other housewives and share homemade recipes. Aunt Petunia always volunteered to chaperone any school trips or overnight trips so that the children could explore more of what little they could at the age they were. She carried cookies and brownies with her at all times so that she could give one to every child she met on her way to pick up her son and nephew from school.

Dudley was the considerate son who made sure his cousin had someone to play with at school because he didn't want his cousin to be all alone. He was still too young to attend primary school, so he was often seen playing at the local playground. He hung around the same group of children, all of whom tried to get others to join them in their fun. It was endearing to see Dudley seek to encourage his cousin to play with him and slightly disheartening whenever said cousin chose to rebuff his attempts. He was jealous whenever he saw other children approach his cousin and made sure to chase them off because he wanted to be the first one to break his cousin out of his shell. On the bright side, his cousin didn't seem too interested in making any friends, but that made his job even harder. The neighborhood couldn't choose between rooting Dudley on to make friends with his cousin and discouraging him from trying to be friends with his cousin anymore since he didn't deserve Dudley's friendship.

Harry Potter was an orphan who lost both of his parents in a car accident when they were driving while under the influence. He received a nasty scar on his forehead from a flying shard of glass that narrowly missed his eye. Harry Potter was an unruly child who shied away from other children including his cousin. Even though his cousin was just as kind as his parents for taking him in by actively trying to get him to join the fun, he always rebuffed Dudley's attempts. Harry Potter never hung around any of the other children either and was always seen alone. He didn't seem to have any friends since his cousin chased them off because Dudley wanted to be the first to break him out of his shell. He didn't seem too interested in making friends with anyone either.

Harry Potter was an orphan who did not deserve pity when he was taken in by his loving uncle, a caring aunt, and considerate cousin who only wanted the best for him. He was a delinquent in the making and was bound to get into lots of trouble in the future, the sorts that involved fights, drugs, and gangs. He gave the kind Dursley family so much grief when they were the family who deserved it the least.

* * *

Freak was an orphan who deserved every bit of misfortune he experienced. He lost both of his parents in a car accident because they were foolish enough to drive while under the influence. Ma'am told him he got the ugly scar on his forehead from a stray shard of glass and that he was lucky it didn't take his eye out. It was a constant reminder of his parents' reckless actions, though, and Sir made sure to remind him at every opportune moment. His father was a good-for-nothing alcoholic and a drug dealer who couldn't keep a job longer than a week because he was a lazy scrounger. His mother was a bad egg who ran off with his wastrel of a father, who was also her drug dealer, without either of their parents'—his grandparents who were now long dead—and gave birth to him out of wedlock. His parents were united in a shotgun marriage and drowned away their miseries that his birth had caused them, which eventually led up to their deaths.

Freak wasn't part of the Dursley family because he already had his family—it was his fault that they were dead. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia made it clear that they were a great deal better off without him, but they took him in out of the kindness of their hearts. They weren't getting anything out of allowing him to stay with them until he was old enough to repay them and move out. Aunt Petunia let him sleep in the cupboard under the stairs instead of the attic—filled with dusty albums, boxes of mementos, and the occasional rat so it would be a tight squeeze, even for him with his smaller than average stature—under the stipend that Freak completed a list of chores each day. Because he was an outsider, Uncle Vernon gave him a set of rules that he was to follow or face dire consequences.

When Aunt Petunia gave him a list of chores that she expected him to complete each day, Freak was more than willing to help out since it was the only way he could earn his keep in the Dursley household. More than anything, he wanted to repay them for taking him in when they could've easily dropped him off at an orphanage. He didn't mind that Dudley wasn't given a list of chores to do since he didn't need to earn his keep like Freak did. If his parents were alive, he was confident that they wouldn't take Dudley in out of the kindness of their hearts like the Dursley family had done for him if Dudley were in his situation. It was evident that Aunt Petunia wasn't all that close with his mother and given how his parents were alcoholics and drug addicts, Freak had probably used up all of his luck when the Dursley family decided to let him stay. Even if Freak had to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs, only got to wear Dudley's old clothes and never got a full meal, he still had a roof over his head and could take baths every so often. Beggars can't be choosers, and the least he could do is feel grateful towards the Dursley family.

Aunt Petunia gave him all of Dudley's old castoffs because they couldn't afford to buy him any clothes when Dudley was constantly outgrowing his own. He was all right with that since he was more fortunate than others given that he still had a roof over his head and was given clothes of his own to wear, even if they were many sizes bigger than him and sometimes ripped or badly stained. Freak didn't want to burden the Dursley family anymore by whining and complaining after everything they've already done for him.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley were messy eaters because Uncle Vernon worked himself to the bone to provide for the family while Dudley was still a growing boy, so he had to clean up the dining room floor as well. Neither were too concerned with wasting food by letting some fall to the ground than they were with eating as much as they could eat and then some for dessert. After each meal, Freak was typically given little leftovers and at times, scraps because Uncle Vernon and Dudley were feeling particularly hungry. He didn't mind that he was still left hungry after eating because he would much rather have something in his belly than nothing at all.

* * *

Freak and Dudley were meant to start school in September and ended up in the same class. Miss. Honey was a very nice teacher who wanted to get to know everyone in the class personally because it was her first time teaching a class. When it was their turn, she wanted everyone to tell the rest of the class their name, what their parents do for a living, and what they got for their birthday. Miss. Honey gave everyone seating charts based on the first letter of their surname, and so Freak was placed in the back of the classroom while Dudley sat in the front. Dudley was the tenth to go and told the class that Uncle Vernon worked at a company while Aunt Petunia stayed at home and that he got thirty presents for his birthday. When it was Freak's turn to introduce himself, he told the class that his parents were dead but that his father was a drunk and his mother was a bad egg who ran off with his father, and that he had never received anything for his birthday before.

There was a funny look on Miss. Honey's face after he finished his introduction. Since he was the last, she had her teaching assistant, Mrs. Clayton—one of the ladies that Aunt Petunia loved to gossip about because two of her former husbands had left her and her third husband was rumored to be seeing another woman. She took Freak to the headmistress's office and had him repeat his introduction to her. The headmistress's face became just as funny as Miss. Honey's was when he finished, and she called Aunt Petunia to the school. Miss. Honey had him sit in one of the chairs and gently told him that his name wasn't his _real_ name. He was Hadrian James Potter, but he didn't like how his full name rolled off his tongue, so he decided to go by Harry on the Headmistress's suggestion.

When Aunt Petunia arrived, the Headmistress sent him to a room next to her office with Miss. Honey to talk to Aunt Petunia privately. Afterward, Miss. Honey brought him back into the office and left to bring Dudley. For some reason, Aunt Petunia took Harry and Dudley home early and sent him to the cupboard without any explanation and told him that he wasn't allowed to come out until Uncle Vernon came back home from work. The cupboard was originally meant to hold cleaning supplies, so it came with a child-proof lock. Aunt Petunia has been particularly upset because she only ever locked him inside his cupboard when he upset her terribly.

When Uncle Vernon came home from work that evening, Harry could hear Aunt Petunia talking to him in the dining room in a solemn tone. Uncle Vernon slammed his fist on the table and could be heard shuffling to the living room. With the conversation ended, Aunt Petunia unlocked the cupboard door and practically dragged him out by the arm and brought him to the living room. Uncle Vernon was purple and had an angry look on his face. Uncle Vernon yelled at Harry for being so daft as to tell the entire class about his family when it would make the Dursley family look poorly. He was utterly confused, and Uncle Vernon seemed to notice his confusion because he began spitting furiously, unable to speak properly in his rage.

Instead of settling for another lecture, Uncle Vernon slipped his belt out from the belt loops of his trousers. Harry was made to take his shirt off and lean against the coffee table so that his back faced Sir. He still felt confused and didn't understand what was going on, but Harry still complied obediently. Whatever he had expected Uncle Vernon to do, he didn't expect him to whip the belt against his back. The tongue of the belt buckle dug into his skin, and when Uncle Vernon pulled the belt back, some of the skin on his back tore. He was screaming in pain before the sound even registered. His screaming infuriated Uncle Vernon even more and encouraged him to continue to flog him. His back was burning hot, pulsating with pain, and felt wet and sticky like the time Dudley had poured honey all over him to catch a squirrel. There were black dots in his vision, and he felt light-headed. There was bile in the back of his throat, which felt raw and terribly abused from how hard he screamed.

He didn't remember when he had blacked out, but he woke up in his cupboard. He was disoriented, his head pounded painfully with a headache, and his throat was parched. When Harry tried to open the cupboard door, he found himself locked inside, hungry and in dire need of water. His back throbbed painfully, but it was dull enough that he could ignore it soon enough. Thick dried blood caked his back, but thankfully, there weren't any open wounds even though Harry could feel fresh scars. He didn't give it too much thought because he was just glad that he didn't with the pain that would've accompanied his back injuries had it not mysteriously healed overnight.

Harry felt as though his heart was ripped out from his chest. While Dudley was treated much better than him, he was still glad that the Dursley family treated him kindly. He never expected for Uncle Vernon to suddenly flog him because his actions painted them in a bad light. Aunt Petunia and Dudley surely would've heard his screaming, but neither lifted a finger to help him. It made sense in a way. Miss. Honey told him that he shouldn't talk about his parents that way because it wasn't true even if Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia said so. The Dursley family did take him in, but now that he put more thought into it, it didn't seem to be out of the goodness of their hearts.

If they wanted to look good in the neighborhood, they quickly could've sent him to the orphanage and sent small but periodic donations. They could tell the community that they afford to feed another mouth but were concerned for his wellbeing so that it made them look like sympathetic citizens who were doing the best they could to help their nephew. They could've cleaned out Dudley's playroom so that he could stay in it and move Dudley's toys to his closet since most of his clothes were in a large dresser. Aunt Petunia always managed to make enough for Uncle Vernon and Dudley to stuff themselves to their heart's content and for herself so she could've easily made enough for him to eat since he didn't have that large of an appetite in the first place. They always had enough money to buy Dudley new clothes, for Aunt Petunia to buy new perfume and jewelry, and for Uncle Vernon to buy himself nice suits every so often so they could've purchased clothes for Harry. Dudley always got at least twenty or more presents for his birthday and on Christmas so they could've afforded to buy him at least one gift for his birthday and Christmas.

The Dursley family could've easily given him Dudley's second bedroom, clothes of his own, full and proper meals, and presents for his birthday and Christmas—they _chose_ not to do any of that, though. Harry's entire life had been a twisted lie that the Dursley family fed him and that he believed wholeheartedly. He genuinely thought that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were the kind folks that they portrayed to the community. Now that he knew that he had just been deluding himself the entire time, Harry felt lost and strangely empty—what was he going to do with himself now?

* * *

Harry was never the most talkative of children, and he wasn't all that sociable either. He only spoke when spoken to, responded in a soft-spoken voice, and kept it as short as possible. While his peers turned it into a game to see who could get him to speak at all, and later to who could get him to talk the longest, they quickly grew bored of him. None of his peers were interested in playing with someone who hardly ever spoke. The teachers were worried that he wouldn't make any friends, but they were quick to dismiss him since he wasn't causing any trouble just by being a lone wolf. They figured he would leave his shell eventually when he grew lonely of being all by himself and wanted to join everyone else.

Sir didn't like that he had a big mouth and believed that he didn't deserve any friends. Harry had the living daylight beaten out of him until he finally got a clue at what Sir was hinting. He seldom spoke after the third beating and stopping talking at all—until Miss. Honey called on him during class first—after the fifth beating. Dudley chased off most of the children who approached Harry, but after the sixth beating, he rebuffed any attempts his peers made at becoming friends with him. Dudley seemed to have reported that to Sir because the beatings stopped after that. While he stopped talking as much as he used to and rebuffed advances from his peers, it didn't— _couldn't—_ change the longing Harry possessed for friends that he could pour his heart out.

Things simultaneously got better and worse—better because Sir didn't beat him anymore and the flogging seemed to be a one-time-thing and worse because the Dursley family began to treat him even lesser than before. He still stayed in the cupboard under the stairs and received all of Dudley's old clothes. It would look suspicious if he kept wearing the same few outfits every so often since the Dursley family could just tell the community that Harry was stubborn and liked wearing baggy clothes. Harry's meal portions grew even smaller; he was only allowed to shower with cold water and soap, and couldn't leave his cupboard to go to the restroom in the middle of the night because Ma'am would lock him in.

On Halloween, Harry learned that it was his parents'—after opening his eyes to the truth behind the Dursley family and sickeningly sweet façade, he took everything that came out of their mouths with a grain of salt—death anniversary. He learned that the world was truly a cruel place. No matter how hard he cried, or how desperately he pleaded to any of the higher powers at work, no one would ever come to save him. His pleads fell on deaf ears, and no one would ever bother to listen to them in the first place. The Dursley family's lies spread far, and now the entire community looked at him as though he was the spawn of the devil, as though he would follow in his parents' footsteps—the image of his parents that the community believes, that is.

Halfway through his third year, the flogging became a bi-weekly occurrence—Harry still had school to worry about, and even if his injuries could heal overnight because of a strange miracle, he couldn't hide the aching pain that remained—when progress reports came in the mail. Harry's teacher, Mr. Anderson, suggested that he should be bumped up a few grades because he was very advanced for his age on his progress report. Dudley's teacher, Mrs. Laviano, however, commented that Dudley was doing poorly compared to his classmates and suggested summer school or after-school tutoring. It infuriated Sir to no end that a freak like Harry was one-upping Dudley when it should be the other way around because according to Sir, freaks were beneath regular folks and Harry belongs underneath the Dursley family's foot. From there on, his punishments grew worse and evolved to invoke more pain.

It certainly didn't help that Sir and Ma'am hated it whenever Harry's wounds from the night before would just disappear with only faint, pink scars. Sir could be loose with his tongue while Ma'am was especially tight-lipped so Harry always fed Sir's ego and acted weaker than usual around him to get information out of him. Harry learned that he was a freak because of how his wounds never failed to heal overnight, but that still didn't explain _why_ his injuries could heal in the blink of an eye.

When he put more thought into it, Sir's words made much more sense. Harry had long since chalked his mysterious healing ability to something he wouldn't be able to figure out anytime soon. Sir and Ma'am were never strict with Dudley and loved to spoil him, but there were still things that they wouldn't budge on no matter what; it frustrated Dudley to no end, but he learned not to approach it with a ten-meter stick. Harry had originally thought it was because the Dursley family were devout Christians that they didn't allow anything that could be the slightest bit related to magic in the house. Dudley wasn't authorized to watch any programs that let his imagination run too wild, couldn't buy any comics or toys that were related to fantasy. When Harry was especially hungry, food and water would sometimes appear in his cupboard; it was mostly brown bananas and a handful of Dudley's juice packets since Ma'am always bought them in bulk and would never notice a few gone missing.

Ma'am never joined in his beatings, but she made sure to let him know that she wouldn't lift a finger to help him either. Occasionally, she would rant about his mother angrily as Sir whipped his back open with The Belt. At first, it was hard to focus on what Ma'am was saying because all he could process was excruciating pain. Eventually, his pain tolerance went through the roof, and Harry found it easier and simpler to listen to what Ma'am had to say about his mother while Harry still pretended that Sir's whipping hurt him horribly. While most of what came out of Ma'am's mouth was ridiculously biased and made Ma'am sound like she had an inferiority complex, Harry still learned more than he expected about his mother.

His mother's name was Lily, and even though she was younger than Ma'am, their parents doted on his mother more than Ma'am. While Ma'am had ashy blond hair and dull blue eyes, Lily had vibrant red hair and brilliant green eyes. All of the neighborhood boys had crushes on his mother, but no one wanted to go near Ma'am because most of the children were still at the age where they believed that girls had "cooties." Harry had apparently inherited the exact shade of green, and the shape of his mother's eyes, which made it seem like Lily was watching through his eyes. His mother was bright for her age and outshined Ma'am in academics, which explained why Ma'am looked even angrier than Sir did when progress reports came in the mail and Harry was doing much better than Dudley was faring. Ma'am saw Lily in Harry and compared every little thing he did to his mother.

Sir was sadistic, and his mood would always improve when he made Harry scream in excruciating pain. Watching him cry had Sir smiling with twisted pleasure because he had caused Harry to cry. Flogging was Sir's favorite punishment for Harry, but once Sir realized that Harry got used to whipping, he changed his game. Sir poured hydrogen peroxide over his back because it made Harry scream even louder and helped prevent him from getting any infections since it would be an instant sentence to jail if Harry's injuries got discovered. Sir started to shove his head into a tub full of apple cider vinegar so that Harry would accidently swallow some and vomit stomach acid because there wasn't much of anything in his belly. He strung up Harry in the air and watched him dangle and choke, enjoying the rush of adrenaline at seeing him struggle and the risk of killing Harry if he went too far and didn't let him down quickly enough.

Harry learned to hold everything in, to bottle his emotions so that Sir couldn't have as much fun seeing him in pain as he could've. When he realized how futile it was to cry, his tears slowly dried up. It wasn't as though anyone would ever care enough to save a freak like him. He stopped pleading, ceased to pray, for someone to save him when he grew used to the pain. Everything he did was for his self-preservation now. He had learned to abandon his nativity. To live another day, Harry had followed the rule of survival of the fittest—his mind wouldn't have been able to take it if he didn't adapt to what his life became.

There were times when he wondered if there was someone, somewhere in the world, who would be willing to take him far, far away from the Dursleys. But he had always ended that thought with a bitter laugh. He doubted there was anyone like that still out in the world—pessimism was one of the ways he coped with things since he wouldn't delude himself with any false hope as a pessimist. Even if there was, Harry liked to think that he would've killed them if he was physically capable of it. His life was full of pain and suffering, and at times, he felt like he was better off having never been born in the first place. He would dream of the world where he was never born, a world where his parents were alive and living healthy lives, unlike the image Ma'am painted for him and the neighborhood. And then Harry would wake up to reality and brace himself for another round of pain and misery that would disappear overnight, with only pink scars to remind him that this was his reality.

* * *

Dreams were sacred to Harry—it was the one escape from reality that the Dursley family couldn't take from him. In his sleep, he was free to dream of life where he lived with his parents, loved and cared for but not as spoiled as Dudley had been. There were times where he dreamed that he was a character in one of the books that Mr. Anderson would read to the class. He took Sophie's place in _The BFG_ and saved the children of England, took the boy's place and planned to eradicate all witches with his grandmother's help in _The Witches,_ and got to live with Miss. Honey—it was odd that his teacher for Year 1 was also named Miss. Honey and made Harry wonder if he missed his chance to live with her—after getting rid of Miss. Trunchbull in _Matilda._

Some of Harry's dreams didn't come from a life he wished he could've lived or from the books Mr. Anderson would read to the class. When Sir was particularly harsh with his beatings, Harry would dream of what he suspected to be memories. It was as though his dreams wanted him to chin up and let him see how loved Harry was before his parents died. While those dreams were always too blurry for him to get a clear view of how his parents looked, he was satisfied with hearing their voices—they always spoke softly, gently, with affection apparent in their voices and love for each other evident in their tones.

Other times, Harry would dream of the wind gently caressing his face, the thrumming of a motor, and a gruff voice coming from above. When he let his imagination run wild, he liked to imagine that he was flying over London in a motorcycle driven by a beefy man, tucked in the crook of the man's arm as a baby. It was a funny thought but one that Harry couldn't shake off. The most absurd conclusions could often be spot on, and given that Harry suspected that he could use magic, it seemed very likely. There was no other explanation as to why anything related to fantasy and magic wasn't allowed in the house, his wounds could heal overnight, and food and water appeared in his cupboard during his darkest hours.

The worst dreams were of his parents' deaths. It was odd how he would only dream of their deaths on Halloween; it was their death anniversary and that all but cemented his belief that Harry would wield magic. He already knew that his parents didn't die in a car crash like Sir and Ma'am constantly told him in harsh tones. Harry figured that they still perished in an accident, just not a car accident, but one related to magic. Harry later learned that someone had murdered his parents in a dream of all things; he managed to shatter three of Ma'am's prized porcelain and earned himself an hour of flogging and wire strangling, and two days without meals.

It was one thing to know that his parents were dead, but to hear and witness their deaths was another thing entirely. At the very least, he was right in that his parents' deaths had something to do with magic. His parents died protecting him to their last breath, and it filled Harry up with joy. Sir and Ma'am always told him that his parents detested him and wished he was never born; even though he knew not to take their words with a grain of salt, hearing how hated and unwanted he was made him slowly believe in their words. But his parents loved him so dearly that they were willing to die for him, _sacrificed_ themselves for him to survive—it was humbling to know that Harry was loved so fiercely enough that his parents would rather die so that he could live instead of living without him.

" _Lily! He's here! Take Harry with you and run!" his father yelled in panic. He was tall and lean with muscle, tan and wore silver-framed glasses. He had messy, dark brown hair that curled up at the ends and made him look effortlessly suave and hazel eyes. Harry inherited his father's need for glasses and hopelessly messy hair. "That bastard's breaking down your emergency wards like it's nothing!"_

" _How? The Fidelius Charm is supposed to be unbreakable! Did Peter sell us out?" Lily asked in anguish._

" _I don't know! He must've! If the Secret Keeper is killed, he takes the Secret to the grave! That fucking rat! Bloody hell!"_

" _James, calm down! He'll kill you in an instant if you don't get your act together! Don't you die on me!"_

" _Lily, take Harry and run. Don't look back. Don't come back for me. I love you so much. Tell Harry I don't want to see him for another hundred years." Harry noticed that James chose not to reassure Lily that he wasn't going to die—the man had already resigned himself to death. His father knew that he was going to die regardless of what he did so he chose to buy as much time for Lily and Harry to escape. He was filled with respect for the man and felt proud that his father was such a great man._

" _Damn it, James! I love you too."_

 _Lily was trembling and ran up the staircase. There were a resounding crash and the sounds of shattering glass and splintered wood. Harry could hear the sparks fly in the air and the yelling of odd phrases—it sounded like sophisticated gibberish. The Bastard yelled out an "Avada Kedava, " and he heard the sound of a body hit the floor. Lily let out an anguished wail, and Harry figured it wasn't the Bastard's body that hit the floor._

 _"Bloody hell! He put up anti-Apparition wards and anti-Portkey wards! The Floo Network's down as well."_

 _Lily bit her lip and ran inside what appeared to be Harry's nursery. The wallpaper was written all over with strange, boxy squiggles—some were dark red, and others were dull brown, as though it was blood used as a writing medium instead of ink or paint. His mother placed him in a crib and caressed his cheek gently, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her hand shook, and she looked at Harry as though it would be the last time she would be getting a good look at his face._

 _"This was a last resort. Mummy's sorry, but she has to do this. Uncle Padfoot will take good care of you. Mummy and Da love you so much. We don't want to see you until you give us lots of grandchildren, okay?" The door was blasted open, and Lily choked down a sob before facing the Bastard. There was a fierce look in her eyes, and Harry knew she wasn't going to go down without a fight._

 _"Step aside, girl. I only want the boy. I'll spare your life since one of my loyal followers asked it of me," the Bastard said in a raspy voice._

 _Lily sobbed and shielded Harry from the Bastard with her body. "No, no! Take me, please! Don't kill him! Take me!"_

 _The Bastard didn't bother with trying to convince her any longer. There was a stick of polished wood clasped in his bony hand that he pointed towards Harry. "Avada Kedava!"_

 _A flash of bright green light left the stick. There was a scream of terror from his mother—not for herself, but for Harry—and his mother fell to the ground in front of his crib. Her eyes were empty and glassy, skin drained of color, and her lips were already turning blue. The Bastard pointed the stick at Harry and repeated the words. Another flash of green shot towards him, and there was no one to shield him this time. The wallpaper began to glow ominously, bright red light reflecting off the strange, boxy squiggles. The moment the green light, brilliant and terribly blinding, hit his temple, the writing glowed intensely. It peeled off the wallpaper and began to circle the Bastard, still glowing red and growing in intensity._

 _The writing wrapped around the Bastard like a possessed coil of rope. It burned through the Bastard's clothes and seared his pale skin. His blood bubbled from the sheer heat of the writing, and the Bastard screamed in agonizing pain. The red glow that the boxy squiggles emitted brightened until Harry had to close his eyes from how painful the intensity of it was. There was a deafening explosion that had his ears ringing painfully. When Harry opened his eyes, the house was smoking, and the roof was gone. The wall behind him had blown apart and what remained of the Bastard were ashes and burning pieces of his black garb._

Harry accepted that he was different from the Dursley family. Given how poorly they treated him, he came to the conclusion that they knew that he could use magic. People feared the unknown and fear made people do detestable things that they thought were entirely justified. Harry suspected that the Dursley family feared him for his magic and thought beating the living daylights out of him would reverse the tables so that Harry feared them instead. His parents sacrificed themselves for him so he was certain that they wouldn't mind how he would live his life. Even if they did, they were already dead, so there was nothing they could do about until Harry joined them in the afterlife.

He still hadn't lost the desperate yearning for a family, but he accepted that he probably would never find a family like his own. There weren't many that were willing to die for their child. Harry was certain that for all that Sir and Ma'am loved to spoil Dudley, they would sooner abandon Dudley than sacrifice themselves like Harry's parents had done for him. He didn't care about making his parents proud anymore. The dead would stay dead, and no amount of wishing would change that. Harry would live his life the way he wanted—without anyone's expectations thrown on him or their image of how he should live his life. He was tired of being someone else's plaything. The Dursley family should've put more thought into how they treated him. They saw him as though he was a monster, so a monster he would give them.


End file.
